Talent lives in a skyrise luxury apartment building that sits at the very top of the city like a castle before its people. The eminent structure stretches for the sky, offers panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean, and comes with a full staff.
“Welcome to Grand Opal, ma’am.” A valet attendant opens my door and offers me a hand.
It’s uncomfortable to break my own rules, but I meet the attendant’s eyes and thank him for his help out of the vehicle. He smiles kindly and steps away, allowing me space to stand on the pavement without crowding my personal space.
“Do you have any bags?” he asks. He stands with his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands crossed behind his back.
“No,” I answer solemnly. “I’m here to visit a friend.”
He closes the car door and pats it twice, signaling to Yael that he’s free to go. The valet attendant chaperones me toward the building entrance and points to the reception area where I need to check-in. Unless you’re a resident in the building, no one is allowed past the lobby.
Dog Mom would love this shit.
“Name, please,” the receptionist asks. Her eyes sweep over me to take in my hair and the lipstick that doesn’t follow my lip line exactly, and she looks away. I appreciate the monotony of our encounter.
“Cara Smith,” I say out of habit.
She underlines every single name on the guest list with the tip of her finger. A creeping sensation tiptoes up my spine, and I start to second-guess my reasons for being here.
“I don’t see your name on the list,” she says politely.
I rub the back of my neck and search for the exit door in case I decide to make a run for it. “Can you check for Lydia Montgomery?”
She smiles and rechecks her list, starting at the top. Her finger suddenly stops and draws an imaginary circle around my name written beside Talent’s. She stands, suddenly treating me like an especially important guest and not a stray who accidentally found her way in her lobby.
“I’m sorry for the initial confusion, Miss Montgomery. Mr. Ridge is waiting for you.” She gestures toward the wall of elevators. “You’re going to the penthouse on the fourteenth floor. One of our attendants will take you up.”
All elevator music sounds the same: classical with slow strings and rhythm that never picks up. Its purpose is to distract passengers from dwelling on the fact that they’re trapped in a pulley-controlled box. Calm your nerves, don’t think about motion sickness, snapping cables, or imminent death—focus on the soothing sounds of the waltz.
Elevator music doesn’t help calm the blooming anxiety that escalates as I ascend closer to the penthouse. If the pulley cable broke and I plummeted fourteen stories to my death, would it be worse than knocking on Talent’s door? I’m starting to wonder.
We come to a stop on the ninth floor. A professional-looking man who happened to accompany me this far on my journey to the top of the sky steps closer to the double doors before they part. Close to home, he loosens his tie and exhales a lungful of air. It’s as good as watching his burden drop from his shoulders, and I can imagine the way he’ll drop his briefcase and kick off his shoes once he’s inside his apartment. Maybe he has a partner waiting for him. Or an animal.
I think about following him out, but I sink farther inside until the sunlight in the hallway can’t touch me. As terrified as I am—not of a plunging elevator car, but of how quickly my life has changed and how it circles back to Talent Ridge—I can’t help but feel like the fourteenth-floor penthouse is where I’ll uncover the next part of my life.
Closing my eyes once the double doors seal me in again, I inhale slowly through my nose and out through my parted lips. The elevator jolts to life and my stomach is slow to catch up to the speed of the car. I don’t watch the number increase as we sail to the top floor. Instead, I escape to the memory of Talent on the fire escape last night. His lips. The warmth of his liquor-laced breath. The shadows across his face that was within kissing distance.
My heart pounds in an acoustic drum pattern—no percussion, just beat—increasing louder and louder until my bones feel like they’ll fracture from the vibration. The noise in my head is nearly unbearable, and then the elevator comes to a slow stop and it ends. I open my eyes to find the elevator attendant smiling at me.
“We’ve arrived to the penthouse floor, Miss Montgomery,” he says.
The ninth floor opened to a hallway of multiple doors.
There’s only one door on the fourteenth floor.
“Thank you,” I say. I reach into my purse for a cash tip, but the elevator attendant waves me off.
“No need, ma’am,” he says kindly. “Mr. Ridge took care of it before you arrived.”
This hits different, and I find myself irrationally emotional because Talent approached the elevator attendant before my arrival and paid him to ensure my journey from the lobby to the top floor of Grand Opal was a good one.
The attendant is polite and doesn’t look to be frightened of the unstable woman in his elevator. He says, “Have a good day.”
He doesn’t wait for me to reach the large set of doors at the end of the hallway before departing. If I changed my mind and opted to leave, I’d have to wait for the elevator to arrive at the lobby and for it to come back up. Or tackle fourteen flights of stairs. Not happening.
Smoothing my hair down, I whisper to myself, “Don’t be a coward, Lydia.”
Why didn’t I wear better clothes?
I should have styled my hair.
Mascara would have been better than nothing.
When did I become so fucking unsure of myself?
Faking glory, I knock on the door twice with the back of my hand. Anxiety eats me up and there’s nothing I can do to curb its appetite. Did I knock hard enough? Is it too soon to try again in case he didn’t hear me the first time? What if he only paid the elevator attendant for his discretion? He may be the most influential man in the building, but surely he isn’t the only person of influence who lives here. Of course he wouldn’t want the staff gossiping about the whore on the penthouse floor.
I’ve worked myself into a panic when Talent opens the door.
He’s gorgeous, of course. Black jeans. Black shoes. White T-shirt. Talent has blueish veins that show beneath his skin from the inside of his wrist to the bend of his elbow. Dimples show at the corner of his smile. And he cared enough to make sure his hair wasn’t a mess like mine.
I can’t breathe with these worries on my tongue.
“Lydia, wait,” Talent calls after me when I turn around and dash toward the elevator.
“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.” I press the arrow down button beside the elevator doors. It flashes as I drive the tip of my finger into it over and over, like maybe it’ll come faster if it knows I’m in a hurry to leave. “What the hell was I thinking?”
“Hey, look at me.” Talent pulls my hand away from the button and holds it against his chest. His heart beats like mine. “I’m nervous, too.”
My chest heaves and the hallway tilts as I strive to secure a lungful of air. My face starts to tingle, and I can’t look at him. He’s too perfect, and I’m to be feared.
“Come inside to catch your breath. If you still want to leave once you relax, I’ll drive you home myself.”